


Trouble

by obimanletkenobi



Series: Return [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Laughter During Sex, M/M, Multi, Self-cest, Sith Anakin Skywalker, Sith Obi-Wan Kenobi, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-27 16:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30125790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obimanletkenobi/pseuds/obimanletkenobi
Summary: “Where did you come from, then?”“Not where, when.”“Don’t play games with us, Sith,” Anakin snarls, and Obi-Wan extends his arm, a gesture somewhere between calming and restraining. They don’t seem immediately hostile, and he’s more curious than anxious for now. He looks at his double expectantly.“About three years from now.”“Time travel is impossible,” Anakin says, and his twin answers, with a terribly smug tone.“Not for a Sith.”
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Return [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215473
Comments: 25
Kudos: 81





	1. Seeing double

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting this into a series with Burn, because that's where I see the timeline diverging for the sith but this has a completely different vibe, it's much lighter and can be read as a standalone. 
> 
> It's gonna earn its rating in the second chapter, this one is completely gen.

Obi-Wan wakes up, stunned and in pain. His ears are ringing. An explosion, then, he thinks, though he can feel no shrapnel in his skin. His body is shaking, quite violently and he opens his eyes to see Anakin over him.

“Are you alright?” Anakin asks, finally stopping the nudges to his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he answers, looking around, until he sees who’s standing a few meters away. “Only, it appears I’m seeing double.”

Anakin turns around, and gapes in shock. At least he’s not hallucinating, but that doesn’t explain why there’s another Anakin standing behind the first one. 

“What happened?” He asks, as they scramble to their feet. 

“There was this loud flash and then we passed out, I woke up right before you,” Anakin answers, sending a wary look to his double. “Is this a vision?” Anakin’s never had many of those, so he wouldn’t know, but this doesn’t feel real in that heart-rending way force visions usually do. They were sweeping an old battlefield hoping to find a salvageable tactical droid to scrub for intel, and he can still smell the carbon scoring in the air, the background of an upturned tank as clear as the figure that walks up from behind it, familiar but off, like looking at a flipped picture of one’s face. 

“I think I can shed some light on the situation,” the picture says, and the first thing Obi-Wan thinks is _is that what I sound like?_ The second thought is _oh no,_ when he finally notices the glaring difference. Their eyes are yellow. 

“Who are you?” He asks, hand resting on his saber. 

“Well, I thought that, if nothing else, would be obvious.”

Changelings? Not very good ones if so. They both look older, though not by much. His… Twin’s? Reflection’s? Hair is longer, with strands of grey at the temples, but not unkempt. In fact it almost looks meticulously styled compared to his own battle greasy strands. The other Anakin, standing back, relaxed in a way he’s never seen Anakin before, looks unsettlingly similar, indistinguishable from the one at his side if not for the yellow eyes and the cooler, calmer swirl of the Force around him. It’s still warm, but it almost feels freezing compared to the blinding sun he’s used to. A black dwarf where he expected to find a supernova. He reaches out to touch his own double’s quieter Force signature and finds it burning, scalding in an almost exact opposite of the soft summer rain he’s carefully manufactured his own presence into over the years. But the fire feels exactly like the pilot light in the depths of his soul, that rages out whenever he loses control. It is him then. His worst nightmare in fact, undeniable proof that he can fall. 

“Where did you come from, then?”

“Not where, when.”

“Don’t play games with us, Sith,” Anakin snarls, and Obi-Wan extends his arm, a gesture somewhere between calming and restraining. They don’t seem immediately hostile, and he’s more curious than anxious for now. He looks at his double expectantly.

“About three years from now.”

“Time travel is impossible,” Anakin says, and his twin answers, with a terribly smug tone.

“Not for a Sith.”

“Why are you here? Or now?” Obi-Wan asks his own copy, because he’s learned that there’s very little that’s actually impossible, especially when Anakin is involved, and _how_ is not the main issue here.

“We want to help you end this war, while you still can.” 

“What do you mean while we still can? Is it still on in three years?”

“There are things worse than war,” the other Anakin answers, with a sad shake of his head.

“Could you be any more vague?” His own Anakin asks, looking restless and ready to fight.

“I could try.”

Obi-Wan turns to his double, shocked at how much they can communicate through just one look. No point letting the boys get each other riled up, the adults need to speak. He sits down on the ground.

“Alright, let’s talk. Do you have names?”

“I thought we were past that. You already know them.”

“I meant Sith names. Might make it less confusing.”

“I had one,” Anakin’s double says, a vague disgust in his voice, “didn’t use it for long though.”

“Sith titles are given by one’s Master. It felt a bit gauche to choose one myself,” his own copy explains.

“Fine. You say you want to help us. How?”

“We have information that could save countless lives, the entire Jedi order included.”

“No Sith would ever want to save Jedi,” Anakin says, and it’s not a bad point.

“That depends entirely on how he fell.”

“So give us this information, and be on your way,” Obi-Wan says, trying to stay on topic.

“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. Sith artefacts aren’t very precise, and we overshot the date a bit. Better safe than sorry, I suppose, but it’s still too early to tell you everything. And we can’t exactly be on our way either, I want to be upfront about that. If this works, and I certainly hope it does, the timeline we came from will disappear.”

“So you want us to keep you here, indefinitely, based on nothing but your word, until you decide it’s time to share this information you claim you have? And then allow two Sith to stay in this already unbalanced galaxy?”

“A small price to pay for the life of every Jedi, no?”

Obi-Wan tries to take a moment to think it through, but Anakin interrupts him.

“You’re not actually considering this, Master?”

“They aren’t lying, Anakin, I can feel that. And what else do you suggest we do? We can’t just kill them,” he shuts down the obvious solution he can feel brewing in Anakin’s mind, their bond, half closed as it usually is these days, already brimming with attack strategies. “They haven’t made a single move against us. And we can’t exactly turn them in to the council either.” Everybody has secrets, even Jedi, and these two know all of theirs. They definitely wouldn’t be above sharing them for some petty revenge if things don’t go their way. Not to mention, they’re the walking proof of the darkness they both carry inside them. He transmits the general idea to Anakin, and it apparently arrives, with how he suddenly tenses, before shaking his head.

“And how are we gonna explain it if anyone sees them? I don’t think even Pad- senator Amidala will be able to cover this up, no matter how nicely I ask her.”

“We’ll just have to make sure no one...” Obi-Wan starts, interrupted by the sudden wave of convoluted emotion spreading from Anakin’s copy.

“Padme?” He asks in a voice broken and small, the ease he carries himself with apparently just a thin facade.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Anakin says, then changes gears when he notices another burst of feelings, tragic, romantic and hopelessly painful. “Did something happen to her?” He asks, suddenly horrified, making Obi-Wan wince. He has trouble shielding from Anakin’s outbursts when there’s one of him, this is overwhelming to say the least.

“I… I killed her,” the double says, voice cracking and wet.

“Liar! I would never,” Anakin shouts, jumping to his feet, lightsaber in hand, then stops in his tracks when the other Obi-Wan wraps his Anakin, fully sobbing by now, in a tight hug, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

“You didn’t, darling.”

He’s lying, Obi-Wan realises, noticing all the same tells he has on another’s face. They both are. He’s a touch unsettled by the overt display of affection, and so is Anakin, judging by the looks of it. They haven’t hugged like that since he was twelve and started hiding most of his nightmares. 

“It’s alright,” Anakin’s double sniffles hopefully, pulling back, “she’s fine, she’s alive. I can feel her.”

“That’s impossible, we’re halfway across the galaxy,” Anakin says, surprise and jealousy and still anger clear in his voice.

“Maybe I’m just stronger than you.” The bravado feels a touch shallow when his face still shines with tears, and he must know, because he adds, sadly, “you’ve never lived in a world without her.” 

They stay like that, in a stunned silence, until Obi-Wan’s copy speaks, with one arm still slung around the Anakin with wet golden eyes. 

“That’s what we want in return. To see the people we lost. Padme, Ahsoka, Rex and Cody, others.”

“We already lost Ahsoka, you should know that,” Anakin says, dropping to sit in the scorched grass again. It’s the first time he’s said her name in months.

“Oh, don’t worry, she’ll turn up soon enough,” comes the answer, with a wet smile. 

“That’s what this is for you? A victory lap?” He asks, back to his earlier grumpiness, which is, in Obi-Wan’s humble opinion, better than hysterical anger.

“More like a honeymoon.” The smile turns wicked, tears forgotten, and Obi-Wan’s mind screeches to a halt. Oh. Of course. The touching, the _darling_. He flushes, and so does Anakin, probably, because he’s avoiding his eyes as much as he can. 

“So, do we have a deal? If I remember correctly, we’re due to leave this planet today,” he hears his own voice ask, and he’ll have to buy the man a drink one day for changing the subject, though his smile is just as satisfied. 

“That depends on what kind of information you have.”

“We know who the Sith Master is.” That. That could end this war in days. 

“Why didn’t you just deal with him in your own time?”

“I did. It’s how I got these eyes. But it was already too late, the damage was done.”

“But you won’t tell us the name?”

“Not yet. You wouldn’t believe me now.”

“I’m going to need something more, If I’m to trust you.”

The two Sith turn to each other, leaning even more uncomfortably close, and have a whole conversation through their bond, by the looks of it. Obi-Wan has to admit he’s a bit jealous. They haven’t been able to communicate this easily in years. Since the war started, at least. He suspects a fair bit of that is Anakin trying to hide whatever’s going on between him and Padme. He’s probably let it go on for too long, but Force knows Anakin deserves something good in his life, and he can’t bring himself to take that from him. And he’s not his padawan anymore, despite obviously needing guidance, so his breaches of the code are technically his responsibility alone.

“Master, please. It’ll take time, you know that,” the other one begs, out loud. 

“Fine. You can tell them.” And that is… Astonishing, really. Anakin didn’t wait for permission like this even when he was a padawan. Apparently all it took was sleeping with him. Obi-Wan flushes again at the thought, just as the obedient version of Anakin turns to the real one.

“Remember Tup? And Fives? He was right. Dooku had chips put into every clone, that can override all their memories, all their loyalty, and make them kill every Jedi on sight.”

“All of them?” Anakin asks, horrified. “Even…”

“Rex? No, he actually managed to fight it off, only one that we know of. He saved Ahsoka.”

“She’s alive?”

“She is. Still won’t speak to me though, and I don’t blame her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate making up names, and I feel like them keeping their normal names works well with the story, but lmk if it wasn't clear who was speaking.
> 
> I changed the title cause I didn't like how obvious it was


	2. I could show you

They end up splitting up, the two Obi-Wans going on the Negotiator, and Anakin taking his twin on the Tribunal. The idea is, if they’re seen, it’ll be easier to explain one person being in two places on one ship, rather than on two different ships on an almost week-long hyperspace jump. He’s getting tired of those. With how much they’re being thrown from one side of the outer rim to the other, they might as well go through the core and spend a day or two on Coruscant. 

Besides, neither of them wanted to leave the other alone with two Sith. Obi-Wan suggested Force-suppressing cuffs, and Anakin had to watch someone beg with his own voice, without any shame, to _please not do that, come on, you know how horrible the quiet feels._ And Anakin does know, is the only person in the entire galaxy who knows how it feels to be so completely intertwined with the force then suddenly be cut off, so he agreed. He does get a pair of normal cuffs though, once they’re back in his quarters. They managed to sneak through the ship with a few mind tricks and fewer shenanigans, and he hates manipulating his men like that, but he’ll have to do a lot more of it in the future. The plan is to use the journey to remove as many chips as possible, wiping the memory of each clone and medic after. They’ll have to tell Rex and Cody, so they wouldn’t get suspicious about men missing from duty, but that would have to wait until tomorrow, because he’s barely slept in three days. He cuffs his flesh hand to the Sith’s mechanical one, so he’ll be able to feel it if he tries anything, ignores the mocking “kinky” he gets in return, then lays down on his cot, the other on the floor. 

They stay there in silence for a long time. He’s never found it easy to fall asleep, and now, with his cuffed hand hanging awkwardly off the bed, the events of the day replaying in his mind, and the strange feeling in the Force, he’s wide awake despite the bone-deep exhaustion of weeks of constant fighting weighing down his body. It’s unsettling, to say the least, to feel all this cold that lives squashed down in his soul next to him, separate and untethered. It doesn’t feel like there’s another person in the room, not exactly. It’s more like he’s larger than ever, and has lost control of some dark part of him. He’s felt like that before, but it was always wilder, terrifying. This other him is calmer than he’s ever been in his life, and he feels him smooth out even more as he settles into a shallow meditation. Anger swells in him at the very notion. Apparently all it took to quiet the constant rush of the force through him was falling. The other must feel him as distinctly as he does, because when his seething gets loud enough to crash over the room, he speaks.

“Can’t sleep, huh? Me neither, it’s too karking cold.”

Anakin feels cold too, he gave up his second blanket that he stole from the storage room ages ago. It’s theoretically more than the assigned kit, but even after thirteen years he still hasn’t gotten used to the cold. The Sith lays huddled beneath it, nothing but their two outer robes to shield him from the hard floor. 

“We can try to get an extra mattress from the medbay tomorrow,” he answers, because torturing himself feels a lot less victimless when it’s another person.

“Thanks. I’m not used to sleeping alone these days.”

Anakin’s heart stops for a second, then starts again at a frantic pace. He’s been trying not to think about that since he realised, but now he has a chance to ask, so he does, trying to sound more curious than giddy.

“You’re... together, right? You and Obi-Wan? How did that happen?”

“It’s not a nice story,” the Sith sighs, and Anakin feels anger swelling up again.

“You hurt him, didn’t you?”

“I did. But not how you think. He thinks he hurt me too.”

“He wouldn’t. He couldn’t,” Anakin says, quietly, the realisation sudden and obvious. He might rebel, he might disagree with Obi-Wan, but there’s no one he trusts more with his life.

“I know. He didn’t, but he believes he did. It was rough in the beginning. Still is sometimes,” he adds in an entirely different tone, gold eyes and a toothy grin the only things visible in the dark room. Anakin flushes, and tries not to think about anything at all so the Sith doesn’t pick up on his thoughts. It seems pointless. If it really is him, then he remembers all those shameful teenage fantasies, desperately ignored adrenaline fueled impulses, thoughts carefully kept on Padme whenever they strayed, late at night.

“It’s nice too, most of the time,” he continues, “I could show you.”

Anakin feels fingers, warm and soft, snake under the blanket to trail across his stomach, and he grabs the other by the wrist sharply. 

“Don’t touch me,” he warns, through clenched teeth.

“Like you’ve never thought of it before.” Of course he has, he’s surrounded by clones every hour of every day, the topic has come up. But it was always hypothetical, and definitely never involved a Sith with a smug confident voice that Anakin never managed to achieve. “Except, unlike a mirror, I can actually touch you back.”

“My fantasies are just that, and none of your business,” Anakin bristles in response, ignoring his rising arousal. Force, it’s been a long time. 

“You forget. Your fantasies are my fantasies too, and I don’t intend to waste this chance to act on them.”

And he has a point. This is a rare opportunity, and it seems harmless enough. It could be a trick to make him lose focus so he can sneak out and take over the ship, but Anakin intended to sleep anyway, so how can this be worse. And the lust spreading through the force around them feels completely honest. He doesn’t say anything, just loosens his grip on the other’s wrist, and tries not to let his disappointment show when the hand retreats. He fails, apparently, judging by the laugh he gets in return.

“Eager, aren’t you? Don’t worry, so am I.” And then he’s being shoved towards the wall so the Sith can climb under the covers, halfway on top of him, with their legs tangled together. They freeze for a moment, nothing moving but breath hitting parted lips, and stare. It’s nothing like a mirror, warm and real and moving closer, down to press identical lips together. There isn’t that moment of uncertainty, of trying to figure out the other person. There’s no need for it, no other person here. Just him, knowing exactly what he wants, and giving it without hesitation. The kisses slip down his neck, and turn into bites, harsher than anything Padme ever dared give him, although that’s probably because he never knew how to ask. Padme. He shouldn’t do this, he thinks, distantly. But why not? It’s just him, she wouldn’t mind. He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing two of her together, his mind supplies, and he arches up, feels a smile spread against his neck at the image. It turns into sucking and he pushes the Sith away.

“No marks.” He only gets an arched eyebrow, a knowing look in response, and concedes. “Not where they’ll be seen.” 

The wet kisses move lower then, and he feels the sting of blood vessels popping on the thin skin on his collarbone. After an eternity, the Sith pulls back to look at his work, and whispers, voice suddenly brighter, throatier, in a terrible parody of a Core accent. “So beautiful, dear one.”

Anakin can’t help but laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I said I’d show you what it’s like with Obi-Wan, didn’t I?” His copy answers, voice back to normal, but apparently he wasn’t trying very hard, because he’s laughing too.

“That’s not what he sounds like.”

“That’s true, I never could do the accent.” Something strange appears on his face then, visible in the dark with how close they are. “I could just tell you myself, though. You are beautiful, Anakin, and strong. You need to believe that, and not wait for someone else to tell you.” 

Anakin finally lets go then, grinding up, earning himself another kiss before the Sith pulls away, jostling the cot. He’s getting the lube hidden under the mattress, Anakin realises, he knows where it is because he kept it there himself, three years ago. And then he moves down, taking the covers with him, but it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t feel cold anymore. There’s a bit of rearranging as the Sith tugs his pants down and settles between his legs, their still cuffed hands tangling awkwardly as he opens the bottle. He expects a slick hand to wrap around his cock, which seems a bit pointless, he can do that himself, has done it himself, that’s why the lube is there, stolen from the medbay as well, but he feels lips instead, and gasps. Then does it again when slick fingers move down and behind to press against his hole. He’s thought about it before, because again, he’s surrounded by no one but men all the time, and he’s not the only one Kix has to hide medical supplies from, but he’s never actually done it. Not yet, apparently, because a finger slips into him and immediately finds, with precision that has to come from experience, a spot inside that makes his mind go blank. 

“Oh, this is a lot easier on the wrist this way,” the Sith confirms, making him laugh again, then choke on it when he starts moving. 

He gets lost then, thinking of nothing but the stretch, the pull of his exhausted muscles fading into an all encompassing hum of pleasure. 

“You know,” he hears, startling him out of the haze, as he feels a third finger press inside, “if you’re too scared to ask Obi-Wan for this, I’m sure Padme would love to do it for you.”

The idea is so obvious, so simple, when in reality it’s anything but, and anger pushes through the fog in his mind, when he remembers who exactly he’s fallen into bed with. 

“Don’t talk about her like you have any right.”

“She’s as sacred to me as she is to you. More, probably.”

“Why did you kill her then?” He asks, mean and petty, regrets it immediately when the fingers still and grief spreads through the room like a cold shower. He does want to know, he is angry, but this isn’t the time for it. It won’t happen, he’d never hurt her, can’t even allow himself to think about a world dark enough to let it come true. He carefully keeps everything about this experience in the hypothetical category, treating it like a test, more than real life. He's still half convinced it's all a weird dream. 

“I’m trying to keep you from repeating my mistakes,” the Sith sighs.

“And what, you think having Padme finger me would save the world?” Anakin jokes, trying to loosen the tension. It works, for a moment at least, a smile returning to this face that is not quite his own.

“No, that’s just a bonus. You won’t have time for that before anyway. But after… Well, the possibilities are endless. Maybe we could have her together.” It’s punctuated by a mean curl of his fingers, the moan that escapes him almost overshadowing the anger that spreads again.

“I’d never let you touch her,” he says, the threat weakened by how breathless he sounds.

“You know that’s not true. You couldn’t keep me away because you know how much it would hurt. Besides, she’d love it. She’s always been oh so adventurous, and there’s no one else you’d let near her. Well, possibly one other person. Or do they count as two?” And suddenly images flood his mind, familiar as if he’d thought of them himself, but he didn’t. Padme between two of him, eyes closed, mouth open and being rocked back and forth. Then Obi-Wan appears in the frame, and another, joining behind each of them in a position that would definitely never work in real life, but does paint a lovely picture. So lovely that he clenches down, someone else’s memory of how exactly Obi-Wan would feel inside him complimenting the sensation. 

“Someone’s coming around to the idea, I see,” the Sith continues, in that insufferably smug tone again, starting to move faster. 

“Do you ever shut up?”

“You know I don’t. I wonder what they’re up to right now. Maybe the same thing we are.”

Anakin masks his groan at the idea with a laugh.

“Not likely. They’re probably going around in circles, talking each other’s heads off about whatever Sith bantha shit you used to get here.” 

“You’re probably right, boring old fucks. Maybe they’d like some entertainment.” 

And before Anakin has a chance to ask anything, the Sith bends his head to the side, deeply focused, eyes open and fixed on him, but going cloudy for a moment. Then he smiles again.

“Well, he seemed to enjoy that. And he says I should stop teasing and get to it.”

“Wait did you just… contact him? That’s impossible, they’re too far, and in hyperspace...”

“Obi-Wan always says there’s very little that’s impossible when I’m involved. You should try it sometime. Maybe not right now though, poor man might have an aneurysm if he saw us. So, what do you think?”

“What?” Anakin asks, still distracted by the idea of Obi-Wan seeing him like that. Two of him. If the older version enjoyed it then the real one would too, right?

“Should I get to it?” 

“Oh. Um, yes. Yeah.”

“Great,” the Sith says, pulling his fingers out to slick himself. After another minute of awkward shifting, Anakin ends up with his cuffed hand bent up next to his head, the Sith’s braced next to it and his legs wrapped around a waist he knows by heart, but has never seen like this, and suddenly he understands what the other told him earlier. He is beautiful, and he wants to tell him, but all coherent thought disappears replaced by a blunt pressure against his hole. It hurts, going in, but it doesn’t really matter, though he stops almost immediately, panting against Anakin’s shoulder. And it hits him, how absurd this is. He’s got his own cock inside him, and it’s attached to a Sith. He’d laugh if it didn’t feel so good, so he pushes back, pulls him closer with his legs, until he finally bottoms out, and stills again.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” the Sith breathes out into his shoulder.

“He doesn’t let you?” Anakin asks, still confused about how exactly their relationship works.

“Oh no, he probably would. I’ve just never asked. You won’t either,” he answers, then slowly starts moving, proving his point completely. Anakin can’t believe he’s never done this before.

It seems absurd now, a bit of shame and misgivings fading with every thrust, until his mind is blank and peaceful. He strokes his right hand down the Sith’s back, regretting for the first time that it doesn’t have nails, so he could scratch him, exactly how he likes. He settles on digging fingers into the muscle of his ass and pulling him closer, getting him to move faster. The Sith’s flesh hand, still slick, travels down between them to wrap around his cock and it’s ridiculous to think, but it does feel transcendental. The combination of experience in what exactly works for him, with the unpredictability of being with another is making his head swim. The Sith leans down to kiss him again, sweet and filthy, soft lips and sharp teeth, and that might be his favorite part of all this, a kiss from a teenage dream, perfect and planned and intoxicating. 

“Is that what Obi-Wan is like?” Anakin asks, desperately curious, once they break for air, and the Sith laughs, dark and knowing. 

“Not really, I’m playing nice. He’s a lot rougher, usually.”

“Why?” He can’t imagine Obi-Wan rough anywhere, much less in bed. Whenever he let himself have an actual fantasy, not just random images, quickly dissolved in shame, he’d always imagined him sweet and slow and patient. But gold eyes never featured in his fantasies, and he sees recognition in the ones above him. He doesn’t like that the Sith seems to have more insight into his thoughts than the other way round.

“Pretty much. That’s how he fell, you know. Yoda sent him to kill me, and he decided to fuck me instead.” He presses their foreheads together, and sends through an image, no memories or information, just feelings. Scorching heat, despite the darkness, the smell of molten lava, endless, overwhelming pain fading into the bliss of deserved punishment. “I’ve always wondered what he was like before. Maybe I should try it out.”

A wave of jealousy crashes over Anakin, even stronger than when he mentioned Padme. But Anakin without Padme is wrong, unnatural. He couldn’t let any version of himself live without her. Obi-Wan is a different story entirely. He jerks his left hand to the side, pulling the Sith’s right along with it, causing him to collapse on top of him, and pulls on his hair to growl right into his ear, “maybe you shouldn’t have fucked up your own then. Stay away from mine.”

The Sith only laughs, thrusts changing into a slow, deep grind without the leverage of his arm. But that’s even better, with Anakin’s cock still wrapped in a fist, now squeezed tight between their bodies, and when he whispers, “you better grab him before I do,” and bites his shoulder, hard, he comes, sharp and sudden, his copy following soon after, with a meaner, faster snap of his hips. 

“Really?” The Sith asks, when Anakin uncuffs him.

“Don’t get excited,” he answers, switching the cuff to his other hand, so they can lay on their sides on the narrow bed. He’s always prefered sleeping with someone, and at least they’ll be warm that way, he thinks, wiping his chest with the now spare blanket, draping the other over them both, wrapping his cuffed arm around the Sith’s waist. As he tucks his face into his hair, he realises what the strangest thing about this is. He smells like nothing, because it’s the same scent Anakin’s been used to his entire life, the only difference being the faintest trace of Obi-Wan lingering on the copy’s skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin asked himself if he’d fuck his ~~clone~~ ~~evil twin~~ sith self from the future and the answer was yes, immediately. 
> 
> And, for those of you who have read Burn, yes, Anakin is absolutely dramatic enough to call a messy blowjob and a quick thighfuck “the bliss of deserved punishment”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://obimanletkenobi.tumblr.com/) under the same username


End file.
